Chapter 1292: The Death of the Saint (Part 2)

Extraordinary equipment certainly holds value, but to Lance, they’re like cabbages.

The worth of several pieces of equipment amounts to a mere few hundred or thousand Gold Coins, but mobilizing such a large number of people isn’t achievable with just this sum.

Not to mention, it’s their own money and effort that circles back into Lance’s pockets after being spent.

It’s akin to those card-drawing games of later eras; if you don’t draw the card, you can only accept the bad luck. But, when people around you do draw it, you start believing, "Next time... next time it has to be me."

Giving them a glimmer of hope, making them think they’re fighting for themselves, while in truth it’s nothing but a pitiful joke.

Hamlet earns and Hamlet spends, with no thought of taking a penny home.

The Honor Guard went into the ruins with prepared goods, while teams composed of heroes maintained that fragile order, shrouded by the ghost called Hamlet’s Order over anyone trying to stir trouble.

Meanwhile, Reynard’s troops also began preparations to mobilize frontline forces as per the Lord’s orders, enforcing leave where needed, and rotating defenses where required.

Frontline soldiers were rotated to guard several surrounding farms, the city, and outposts, while those recalled were put through training exercises at the ruins’ frontline.

The countless skeleton frames served as targets, and the ruins provided a site for coordination drills.

Everything seemed orderly; everyone strived for their reasons, neglecting anything else.

But the world is always complex...

In a grand monastery at the mountain’s peak, its white color scheme showcased its purity.

Yet deep within that vast architectural complex lay a place both ancient and unblemished, home to a stair-like platform with rows of flickering candle flames, reducing in number as they ascend.

Some candle flames burned brightly, while others, as weak as soybeans, seemed like they could be snuffed out by a gentle breeze, yet stubbornly persisted.

Originally, none would pay any heed here; compared to the bustling front, the day-to-day tranquility was normal.

But today, a candle at the top suddenly extinguished, followed by a gasp from the room.

"Ah!"

A monk in a lavish attire, appearing middle-aged, hurried out of the hall, crying out in alarm.

"Quickly inform His Holiness the Pope; the Saint’s candle flame has extinguished."

This statement immediately threw a corner of the monastery into chaos until an elder appeared.

Most striking was the elder’s intricately styled white robe, draped with an elaborate, pattern-laden shawl.

On his head sat a jewel-embedded tall hat of similar design; the ensemble mainly white and gold, as refined as if made from gold threads and silver lines.

He held a golden Magic Wand with a head taller than a human adorned with intricate designs and precious gemstones, flanked by two fully armored spear-bearing guards, emitting a powerful aura perhaps rivaling the Legendary.

Both his attire and Magic Wand were exceedingly luxurious, with Legendary individuals from elsewhere merely serving as the Pope’s guards, revealing the Church’s staggering strength.

Yet, the starring elder seemed ordinary, lacking any formidable aura; without the grand display, it’d be hard to believe he was the Pope.

"Your Holiness!"

In the room, a few have already awaited, dressed in lavish garments with an aura far from simple—definitely Church high-ranking members.

Only now, those who would make the Empire shudder with a sneeze lacked their usual calm, instead showing signs of unease.

Those present knew some information; the Church’s Saints were generationally inherited, with bodies and equipment preserved upon death.

Over millennia, errors and losses have occurred, yet ultimately inheritance persisted through the Church’s power.

Alas, luck doesn’t always favor them; the previous generation vanished in Hamlet Territory, severing this chain of inheritance.

Still, the Church hasn’t given up, constantly sending people to search, which is why there was the Order of the Holy Light even amidst a rundown town.

Regrettably, that ghostly place belonged to the ancestors, sealed off by various means, making finding any trace of the Saint impossible.

Fortunately, the dim flame signified the Saint’s survival, granting a glimmer of hope; reclaiming the Saint heralds the continuation of this vital tradition.

However...

It’s as though the Pope’s gaze hardly touched those present and showed little reaction to their greetings, for immediately upon entering he fixated on the altar candles.

Now, with one extinguished at the top, the implications couldn’t be clearer.

The Saint has perished.

The Pope also felt some sorrow, turning to the crowd with a question: "You’re all aware; let’s hear your thoughts."

"It must be those Hamlet heretics who killed the Saint; we must retaliate strongly!"

"Launch a Holy War against Hamlet!"

"Regardless, we must retrieve the Saint’s body; if others seize it, it’s an utter disgrace for the Church!"

The Pope didn’t react much to the crowd’s agitation, knowing the Church’s current state: losing a Holy War outside isn’t crucial, for with the Empire serving as a blood reservoir, soon there’ll be a new wave of youths answering the Holy Light’s call, ready for another strike.

Yet issues plagued the Empire too: droughts in the central region, Empire civil skirmishes, crippling the Empire. Coupled with rising evil cults and organizations, the Church faced overwhelming challenges, far from poised to start a Holy War.

Our Church has fallen...

Why then hadn’t the Church responded to the disruptions from Hamlet Ruins, post-cataclysm, within that time even the ancestor’s grip on Hamlet was weakest.

Back then, the ancestor was trapped by rituals, the Ascension Sect hadn’t matured, necromancers hadn’t summoned hordes of skeletons.

Though the Church dispatched personnel to the ruins hoping to rescue the Saint, they found nothing, learning eventually there were no treasures within, hence the lack of motivation.

They aimed to clear the Undead while weakening Hamlet’s forces, seeking profits as opportunists, hence the inaction.

In their perspective, Hamlet’s tactics appeared absurd; viewing matters with a god-like vision, they assumed control.

Yet the Saint’s demise struck them hard, like a slap resounding deep within.

Who’d have thought you could find the Saint, not just that, but eliminate him?

The Saint’s meaning was immense for the Church; arguably the Church’s downfall source could indeed stem from losing; renowned elites, Legendary masters, alongside the Saint vanished back then.

Just as they said, the Church must retrieve the Saint’s body, potentially prolonging the tradition; with the Saint’s return, all could improve.

"Years ago, we suspected the Saint was trapped somewhere in Hamlet; now rumors suggest Hamlet is rallying adventurers against the ruins, might the Saint have been found?"

"The Church cannot lose the Saint, akin to losing the Holy City."

"Withdrawing other powers, let the faithful endure hardship first, blame I’ll bear."

Their arguments were abstract.

The Holy City was long lost; the Saint is now dead, both missing, as if stating it would magically restore them, yet not witnessed in action.

As for redirecting resources, it certainly invites disaster; criticism belongs to the Church, what do you bear?

Still, the continuous persuasion made the Pope resolute, pausing with his Magic Wand to quiet the room, after a moment he spoke:

"Proceed, though hardships loom, we cannot stand by watching Hamlet’s followers succumb to Undead threats, in any case we must eradicate the Undead plague."

The Pope, being the Pope, layers righteousness to justify decisions, but for the subordinates it signals profit opportunities.